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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23081074">Crowley, When The Walls Fell</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ineffablefool/pseuds/ineffablefool'>ineffablefool</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Good Omens (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>(Aziraphale is very round and very lovely thank you and good day), Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Asexual Relationship, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Chubby Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), First Kiss, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Love Confessions, No Sex, No Smut, Other, Pining, medium angst i think?</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 10:55:17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,557</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23081074</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ineffablefool/pseuds/ineffablefool</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Aziraphale looked around again, a thoughtful frown pulling at his lips.  “I know what human love feels like, and this is… as I said, out of focus.  Sideways, somehow.  It doesn’t flow the same way.”</p><p>He tilted his head, almost as if he was listening for a moment, then continued.  “And now I think of it, it’s almost familiar somehow, too.”</p><p>(Crowley keeps working to hide his love from Aziraphale.  Aziraphale keeps sensing it anyway.  Aziraphale just doesn't know what it is, until...)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>87</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>438</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Aspec-friendly Good Omens</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Crowley, When The Walls Fell</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hello and welcome to the Soft Zone(TM)!  Everything here is asexual, fat-positive, and generally ridiculously sappy, in the end.  You ready?  I'm ready!</p><p>This story is on the angstier side for me (with a lot of negative self-talk about the nature of demonic love from the Crowley third person limited POV), although the ending is still happy, because I can't stand sad endings.  I wrote 80% of it back at the end of July, put it down in the middle of a line of dialogue, and didn't pick it up to transcribe from my handwritten draft and finish up until March.  It started as "the one that mentions Star Trek", and then became "3.5k words on demonic love throughout the ages, less than 300 of which are about Star Trek".  These things happen, I suppose.</p><p>I'm writing for the TV characterization, but I've decided that my written Aziraphale is visibly fat.  Tumblr and AO3 user Squeegeelicious has created <a href="https://ineffablefool.tumblr.com/post/189282541139/squeegeelicious-a-walk-to-the-ritz-for">this absolutely gorgeous artwork</a> for my first human AU <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/20936816">If Not Now, When</a>, which should help you know what to visualize as you read!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Hmm.”</p><p>Crawly looked at the angel, who, for a wonder, still hadn’t told him to get lost.  This wasn’t the first time Crawly had approached him in the centuries since the world began, looking for conversation, looking for... he didn’t know what.  Each time he would think surely, this was it.  This was the time Aziraphale would cut off their strange acquaintanceship and stomp off somewhere, or maybe just demand that Crawly leave.  But it hadn’t happened yet.</p><p>Crawly didn’t really know what the angel got out of it.  Not the same thing Crawly got out of it.  That was okay.</p><p>“What?  If it’s the smell, that’s just the camels out back.”</p><p>“No, it’s not that,” Aziraphale replied, though his face still had that same wrinkle-nosed expression.  “I just keep thinking I feel —”  He closed his eyes, tilting his round face up slightly, then stared around the room, looking perplexed.  “There it is again!  How odd!”</p><p>Another gulp of the swill that passed for beer in this town.  “What?”</p><p>“Well, it’s faint, mind you — or, or sort of half out of focus, so it’s hard for me to get hold of it before it slips away — but I would swear that I keep sensing someone’s love.”</p><p>Crawly did not, exactly, choke on his beer, but he did find it suddenly even more difficult to swallow.  “I’m sorry, someone’s <i>what</i>?”</p><p>“<i>Love</i>, Crawly.  Surely you remember <i>something</i> of being an angel.”</p><p>There was a silence, then, and Aziraphale actually looked unhappy, as though he cared about having hurt Crawly with a reminder of what he’d lost.  “I’m sorry,” he added, tone gentle.  “I didn’t mean...”</p><p>“Nah.”  Crawly drained his mug.  “‘S fine.”</p><p>“Yes.  Well.”</p><p>More silence.  Crawly cleared his throat.  “Could be the guy over by the door, yeah?  Or the woman at the bar.”</p><p>Aziraphale turned those ridiculously open blue eyes toward him.  “What could?”</p><p>“The.”  Crawly forced his eyes to keep their whites.  “The love.”</p><p>“Oh!  Hm.  It doesn’t seem like it would be.”  Aziraphale looked around again, a thoughtful frown pulling at his lips.  “I know what human love feels like, and this is... as I said, out of focus.  Sideways, somehow.  It doesn’t flow the same way.”</p><p>He tilted his head, almost as if he was listening for a moment, then continued.  “And now I think of it, it’s almost familiar somehow, too.”</p><p>“Gyeh.  Camels out back maybe?  Mice in the walls.”  Crawly let his mouth run on, hoping he could get Aziraphale to think of something, <i>anything</i> else besides the last time he’d felt that particular sort of love.  Because Crawly had a very bad feeling that he himself knew, and it was probably, oh, fifty or sixty years ago.  And a century or so before that.  And back again, again, maybe all the way back to a garden and a wall and a rainstorm — all the way to the beginning — and that was not a knowledge he wanted Aziraphale to have.  It would be the end of these little meetings.  The angel casting him off at last.</p><p>“Bugs in the bread flour.  Or yeast in the beer, maybe, can yeast feel love?  Seems like all Their creatures ought to be able to, They love it so much.”</p><p>Aziraphale puffed his cheeks out.  “There’s no need to be so flippant.  It was just... odd.”  He shrugged.  “But then, this is a world full of wonders, even after all this time.”</p><p>“Wonders.  Sure.”</p><p>“And anyway, it’s gone now again.”</p><p>It wasn’t gone, of course, just walled up behind a desperate semblance of control.  But only Crawly knew that.</p>
<hr/><p>Crawly only sought the angel out when she couldn’t get through one more decade, year, instant of being away from him.  There was plenty of time in between to be alone with her thoughts.  To practice the control she’d need in order to stand in his presence and not spill everything from her unholy heart in a black stinking mass, in an ocean of decay.</p><p>Only once in the thousand-odd years since that night had Aziraphale said anything about the strange,  half-felt love.  Crawly had asked him herself, in a burst of terrible life-decision-making which had come out of several bottles of wine.</p><p>“I thought I noticed it again, once or twice,” Aziraphale mused.  He was halfway to drunk himself, and his white-gold hair was mussed in a way that didn’t speak to divinity at all, but did whisper to Crawly to touch it, feel its soft texture between her fingers.  (Of course it would be soft.  Everything about Aziraphale was soft, and cried out for her to touch.)</p><p>“Ever figure it out?” she asked, totally nonchalant.</p><p>“No.”  Aziraphale frowned.  “Never — I never did.  Haven’t felt it in centuries, now.”  He took a swig of wine and grimaced.  “Sort of miss it, though.”</p><p>Crawly shrugged.  Sipped at her own wine.  Inside her, the ugly sea of her love bashed in dirty waves against the walls she’d long since erected in stone.</p>
<hr/><p>Time passed.  Crowley orbited the angel on an erratic path, a half-captured planet which could not possibly avoid a violent end.  Sooner or later, he would slip too close to Aziraphale, be consumed by his fiery core.  Or the opposite would happen.  He would be flung away at last, out of his sickly orbit and into the emptiness between stars.  And there he would float forever, a frozen corpse.</p><p>For now, he kept swinging around Aziraphale.  The Arrangement stabilized his orbit, a little, allowed him to spiral ever closer, drawing in toward the heavenly body, the warm weight of gravity that was one short, round angel.</p><p>Strange unfocused <i>inhuman</i> love was never brought up again.  It never would be.  Crowley loved Aziraphale more with each passing decade, but in response he just built his walls higher.</p>
<hr/><p>Crowley enjoyed television, once it really got going.  The golden age of science fiction.  The humans were so curious about everything, about the stars they could see, the worlds they could imagine; and so they wrote stories about them, broadcast them to a little box in Crowley’s flat which could receive many more signals than it had been designed to do.  He liked the stuff the Americans were coming up with.  Star Trek.  Bloody brilliant little humans.</p><p>Crowley especially appreciated the character of Mister Spock.  Suitably demonic-looking to rouse a faint sense of camaraderie, and his tall, dark good looks, his cool demeanor, just sealed the deal.  Crowley very much enjoyed the episodes where Spock was more clever than anyone else.  Where nothing got under his skin, because he had everything under control.</p><p>Mister Spock, of course, shared a close friendship with a fellow who was a little shorter than he was, far less dark, far more prone to a twinkling smile.  This was something Crowley could handle.  They were friends.  It was just fiction.  He was fine.</p><p>Sometime after his safe acquired a tartan flask of liquid death, he happened to catch an episode he hadn’t seen before.  Mister Spock’s control was shot to Heaven.  He sobbed to himself in an empty room, all his walls blasted to rubble, and when his dear friend found him, Spock laid everything out from his heart in a black stinking mass.  Everything was exposed, and nothing could ever be put back the way it was.</p><p>Crowley hurled a table through his television.  He didn’t watch Star Trek anymore after that.</p>
<hr/><p>“Love!” Aziraphale exclaimed.  “Flashes of love!”</p><p>Crowley had built his walls for millennia.  His voice did not waver even a little.  “You’re being ridiculous.”</p>
<hr/><p>(There had been love at the old convent, too.  It wasn’t the twisted, sideways love.  He was fine.  His walls were solid.)</p>
<hr/><p>Somehow, impossibly, it had all worked out.  The world didn’t end.  Aziraphale wasn’t killed.  Crowley wasn’t either, although that was secondary.  Aziraphale could live without him; the reverse was not true.  Crowley’s world required the presence, no matter how far away, of one soft, fussy, tartan-wearing angel.  This was non-negotiable.</p><p>They had spent so much time together over the last eleven years, more so than ever before.  Once Crowley thought he’d seen that look on Aziraphale’s face, that wrinkle-nosed confusion.  Even Aziraphale hadn’t seemed to know quite what it was.  “Oddly familiar,” he’d murmured, before resting a hand against his chest and smiling.  “It is lovely, though.”</p><p>That had been it.  Crowley was in control.</p><p><i>Control</i>.</p><p>Control had gotten him through their celebratory meal, and through the trip back to the bookshop, and in the door to lean, hands in pockets, against one of the pillars.  Watching as Aziraphale realized that —</p><p>“It’s all here!”  Aziraphale’s eyes flitted, wide and sparkling, over the stacks and shelves around them.  “Every bit of it, Crowley!  Oh — I know you told me as much, of course, but — to <i>see </i>it —”</p><p>He darted about, round body weaving with long practice through the cluttered space, verifying contents, exclaiming over new additions.  Crowley watched it all, silently, letting an indulgent smile settle on his mouth.  His love for Aziraphale roared and battered itself in waves against the walls of its prison.  It was huge, after all this time, a stinking half-rotten monstrosity, the only thing which could come from a demon’s heart.  But he had it under control.</p><p>Aziraphale popped up in front of him, suddenly, pudgy face beaming.  “Well.  This really is splendid, isn’t it?  Did you check the back room when you were here?”</p><p>“Not really, I —”</p><p>“Oh, then let’s do now!”  His hand caught up Crowley’s, and then he was almost dragging him along behind, still chatting excitedly.  “All the books are... oh, they’re books, you know, of course they’re <i>important</i>, but I do hope our little space is still intact...”</p><p>They stopped in the middle of the back room, Aziraphale looking around with that smile still on his face.</p><p>He did not let go of Crowley’s hand.</p><p>He had said <i>our little space</i>.</p><p>Ours.</p><p>Crowley swallowed something that lay heavy in his throat.  Felt something crack.</p><p>Aziraphale turned back to him. He was still smiling, but he’d quieted down, a little, and now the eyes that sparkled up at Crowley were a little moist.  “It’s all here, isn’t it.”  He squeezed Crowley’s hand.  “Just as we left it.”</p><p>Crowley very carefully did not squeeze back.  There was another sense of something breaking, deep inside, but he held grimly to his walls, and did not think about how much he loved Aziraphale, how he had longed for the angel’s hand to hold his since — since —</p><p>He cleared his throat.  “Guess so.”</p><p>“I’m so glad.”  Aziraphale seemed to notice his grip on Crowley’s hand, then, and he loosed it quickly.  Darted his eyes elsewhere for a moment, although then they flickered Crowley’s way again.  “So glad.”</p><p>Crowley grunted.  “Didn’t know you liked this room that much.”</p><p>“Oh, well...”  Aziraphale twisted his hands together for a moment before pressing them to a stop against his belly.  “It isn’t the room, I suppose, more... well, the company I’ve had here.”  He looked away again.  “And the memories.”</p><p>Crowley did not look at Aziraphale.  He absolutely did not look at the hands he had wanted to hold for so many years, and think about how, just now, for a moment, he had.  He didn’t let his eyes travel to the broad waist, belly curving out under the same old worn waistcoat, thinking about how he had wanted to slide his hands around all that softness to pull Aziraphale in for a kiss.  Definitely didn’t then raise his eyes up to Aziraphale’s face, round and beautiful, to the lips he had dreamed of kissing every time he fell asleep for possibly all of human history.</p><p>He looked very carefully elsewhere, and still something inside of him cracked, gave beneath a swelling tide.</p><p>“Oh,” Aziraphale said, and something in his tone told Crowley that his nose would be wrinkled curiously.  “Oh, that — that’s strange.  Why, I haven’t felt this in... oh, I don’t even know how long.”</p><p>Crowley’s legs gave out, and he spilled bonelessly onto the sofa.  “What,” he answered leadenly.  Didn’t ask.  Already knew.</p><p>“It’s... love.  Love, but... out of focus, sort of...”</p><p>“Sideways,” Crowley finished.</p><p>“Well, yes.”</p><p>There was a pause.</p><p>“Crowley?”</p><p>Crowley tossed his sunglasses aside so he could put his face in his hands.</p><p>“What is it?”  The concern in Aziraphale’s voice was so heartfelt that Crowley winced, feeling his walls crumble within him, feeling the sick flood of his love breaking free.  There was a rustling, a sinking of the cushions to his right, and then Aziraphale’s hands were curled loosely around his wrists.  “Please, Crowley.  My dear Crowley.  What’s wrong?”</p><p><i>My dear</i>, it was now, and another stone tumbled away.  It was all escaping now, all he’d locked up, kept Aziraphale safe from for millennia.  A twisted mockery of love —</p><p>“Oh,” Aziraphale whispered.  “It’s... I’ve never felt it this strongly before.  It would always slip away, turn aside before I could get a proper grasp...”</p><p>“Don’t, angel,” Crowley moaned into his hands.  “Leave it alone.  Don’t look at it, don’t sense it, it’s <i>horrible</i>.  Just... give me a minute, okay, and don’t —”</p><p>The hands on his wrists were soft, so soft, but they still pulled his own hands down.  Crowley looked through his own tears, into the solemn blue eyes of the most beautiful creature in this or any world.  Sitting beside him on the sofa, now.  Looking at him with an expression he couldn’t identify.</p><p>The walls were shaking to dust, now.  He’d lost all of it.</p><p>“I’ve sensed this sort of love before,” Aziraphale said.  He shifted his hands around to hold both of Crowley’s, their fingers linked together.  “Years ago.”</p><p>No sense fighting anymore.  “Yeah.”</p><p>“<i>Centuries</i> ago.”</p><p>Crowley nodded.</p><p>“And then not for ages, except sometimes, when...” Aziraphale took a deep breath.  “When we were together.”</p><p>Crowley couldn’t even manage a nod this time.</p><p>“Crowley... dear...” Aziraphale’s hands tightened on his.  “It’s yours.  Isn’t it.”</p><p>There was a hideous pause.  The walls were crumbling, crumbling.  Everything he’d hidden for the entire history of the earth was slipping out to pool around their feet.</p><p>“...What is it for?”</p><p>He could only look at Aziraphale miserably.  “You <i>know</i>.”</p><p>Aziraphale let out his breath in a little <i>oh</i> sound, eyes going wide, and Crowley wished he could drown in his own love, pull the tar-stinking ugliness into his own lungs and choke on it.  Because this was it, wasn’t it?  The truth was all out now, and Aziraphale knew everything.  Knew that this literally unholy love was for him, had <i>been</i> for him, like an insult to all he was.  Crowley’s love by its very nature would have to soil anything it touched.</p><p>The grip on Crowley’s hands loosened, so he pulled away, tucking his hands around his middle as if he could hold in the sickness.</p><p>He opened his mouth, thinking he could at least apologize.  Could say “I’m sorry, angel,” and listen to whatever rejection Aziraphale would have for him, and then slink off into the night to drink himself into a thousand-year-long slumber.  Except he found that he couldn’t.  Couldn’t say anything, not “I’m sorry” or “I didn’t mean to” or even “Don’t worry, I promise you’ll never have to see me ever again.”  The words had been there, but now they’d all been blasted straight out of his head.</p><p>Crowley had acquired a lapful of angel, somehow, heavy and soft and warm.  Aziraphale’s shaking hands clenched tightly at his shoulders.  Aziraphale’s round body pressed him back against the sofa cushions.  Aziraphale’s eyes shone in a way Crowley had possibly never seen before, and when he drew even closer — when Crowley tilted his head and leaned into their kiss — Aziraphale’s sweetly-formed lips were tender on Crowley’s own.</p><p>Crowley’s love for him was enough to flood the world, in that instant, and no “rain bow” to dress the wreckage after.</p><p>When Aziraphale made a little noise, almost as though he was in pain, Crowley managed a half-whispered “Angel.”  Tried to scramble away, as though he could, between the sofa at his back, the angel’s weight in his lap.  Aziraphale’s lips found his again, and Crowley let himself respond for just a moment before the horror of his actions overtook him again.  “Angel!”  He freed his arms from between them so he could put one palm against Aziraphale’s lips.</p><p>His fingers touched Aziraphale’s round cheek as he did so, and there was wetness there.</p><p>Crowley longed, suddenly, for holy water.</p><p>“Thought I could keep you safe from it,” he said, in a voice so rough that he barely recognized it himself.  “Locked it away.  <i>Controlled</i> it.  So you wouldn’t ever have to sense it.  But I just — I couldn’t —”</p><p>He realized that his hand was cupping Aziraphale’s cheek now, thumb smoothing away the tears.  His other hand rested quietly against the side of Aziraphale’s belly, against all that soft beauty that he’d dreamed of holding for centuries.  He pulled both away as if burned.  As if he’d burn Aziraphale.</p><p>Aziraphale’s arms crept around Crowley’s neck, for all the world as though his face wasn’t still damp with tears that Crowley — that Crowley’s love, sick and blackened — had made him cry.  “Whatever are you talking about?”</p><p>“‘S a demon’s love,” Crowley said.  “Isn’t it?  All sideways and twisted, and... and wrong.”</p><p>“It’s <i>beautiful</i>,” Aziraphale corrected.  “It’s like, oh...”  He closed his eyes, round face lit up with a wondering little smile.  “It’s like a favorite symphony, led by a new conductor.  It’s like a favorite dish, only served at one of those little fusion restaurants where the spice palette is all switched around and they’ve added <i>pineapple</i> for some reason, and you wouldn’t think it works but it does, it works <i>splendidly</i>, you know the sort I mean, darling —”</p><p>The word stabbed through Crowley’s chest like a flaming sword.  <i>Darling</i>.</p><p>“It’s like a stroll through a garden which one has visited many, many times before, on many lovely days.”  Aziraphale’s plump fingers threaded through Crowley’s hair, cradling the back of his head, and Crowley felt his eyes go wide behind his glasses, because somehow this kept happening.  “And there is a flower blooming, there in this garden, which one has never properly seen bloom before.”</p><p>The hand on the back of Crowley’s head drew him gently forward.</p><p>“And it’s <i>beautiful</i>.”</p><p>When Aziraphale kissed him this time, Crowley kissed back without hesitation.  He wrapped his arms around Aziraphale, around all of Aziraphale’s perfect corporation, and let all his love express itself in the catch of breath, the press of lips.  In the way his hands kept finding more of Aziraphale to cherish.  In the tiny whimper he couldn’t stop when Aziraphale cuddled even closer to him, like he wanted to burrow into his chest.  Like he wanted to stay here, in Crowley’s arms, forever.</p><p>“There is nothing here to keep me safe from, my darling.”  Aziraphale rested his cheek against Crowley’s.  “I’ve treasured this feeling each time I’ve sensed it, but never knew where it came from.  And all along it was you.”</p><p>“It’s like — like poison.”  Crowley traced a slow circle on Aziraphale’s back.  “Like a rotting black swamp.  Nothing you’d ever want to know about.  Nothing you should ever have to see.”</p><p>Aziraphale hummed thoughtfully.  “Is that really what it feels like?”</p><p>A dark sea of love, endless waves crashing on all the shores of him, every second since that bloody wall.  But not dark anymore — because the sun was rising at last, sweet light spilling over the horizon, turning the waves sparkling blue, kicking up dazzles of gold into his wondering eyes —</p><p>“No.”  Crowley let out a shuddering breath.  “Just how I figured it had to be.”</p><p>Aziraphale’s lips brushed his cheek.  “I’m so very glad you love me, my darling.  I’m so very glad to love you.”</p><p><i>Angel</i>, Crowley would have said, if he’d had any voice left to him at all.</p><p>Aziraphale maybe understood his silence, though, because he didn’t say anything more for a while.  Even when he finally did, it wasn’t quite a word but only another thoughtful sound.</p><p>“Hmm.”</p><p>Crowley looked at his angel, still warm and soft and heavy in his arms.  “What?”</p><p>Blue as the ocean of his love, those eyes.  Sweetly smiling into his.  “I suppose everything isn’t quite as we left it, from before everything.”</p><p>A few new books throughout the shop — Crowley had noticed those.  Aziraphale hadn’t mentioned anything being different about the Bentley, though, and there certainly didn’t seem to be anything different about Aziraphale after his recorporation — still as round and beautiful as ever, filling Crowley’s arms up just like he’d always dreamed...</p><p>Although it wasn’t a dream anymore.  That was new.</p><p>“Not quite the same,” he agreed.  Squeezed Aziraphale, just a little bit, just to feel the give of all that loveliness under his arms.  “Some things are better.”</p><p>“Some things are very much better.”</p><p>Crowley kissed Aziraphale on the forehead, feeling his lips curl into a huge smile against the tender skin; feeling his love overflowing his heart, his chest, filling all of him with tranquil seas, with golden light.  It was different from what the humans felt, maybe, but it was real all the same, it was <i>his</i>, and it was all for Aziraphale.  Always had been.</p><p>They both knew that, now.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>(Yes, the title reference is on purpose.  Because it amused me.  Crowley when the walls fell, but then Aziraphale his eyes uncovered, y'know? Pity we don't know the Tamarian for "and then a whole bunch of snuggling".)</p><p>Thank you for reading!  If you were thinking of leaving a comment, please know that I treasure every single one.  I've literally cried a few times reading some of the lovely things people have said, and they really are fuel for my soft little heart -- but never, ever required, so please don't feel pressured. </p><p>If you want to say hi on Tumblr, I'm <a href="https://ineffablefool.tumblr.com">ineffablefool</a> there, too.</p><p>I would never actively request art from anyone I wasn't paying, but if you, the human reading this, were to decide it was worth your time to create fanart based on any of my stories, I would be incredibly honored (<a href="https://ineffablefool.tumblr.com/tagged/ineffablefool-gets-fanart-from-lovely-people">and would love to enshrine it forever on my Tumblr</a>)!  I have only one requirement: please don't draw Aziraphale any thinner than the size I headcanon (I need both my soft cuddly daydreams, and my positive fat representation).  Here are some examples of what that sort of minimum body size/shape might look like: (<a href="https://ineffablefool.tumblr.com/post/189282541139/squeegeelicious-a-walk-to-the-ritz-for">beautiful fanart created for me by Squeegeelicious</a>) (<a href="https://speremint.tumblr.com/post/186342035100/i-did-this-instead-of-my-hw-ya-girl-is-gonna">speremint 1</a>) (<a href="https://speremint.tumblr.com/post/186574829700/finally-finally-done-making-these-refs-my">speremint 2 from her Reversed Omens AU</a>) (<a href="https://dotstronaut.tumblr.com/post/186740069618/no-really-i-dont-think-you-all-understand-how">dotstronaut</a>)  Otherwise, the characters can look however you like!</p><p>I hope you're having a fantastic day.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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